As likely a place to begin as any.... I then went on a word fandago, exulting and exhilirating on the venings events with the black, blue eyed magical woman that led up to her and I residing in the same bed--a wild exhortation about the small bar we dran at, with this magnificent soul/funk band playing sweet soul/funk sounds to give the whole room a shimmer of joyous exuberance---her blue insoucient eyes , marvelous in contrast to her dark skin, all ablaze while we joined happily in the qiuivering dance, while the singer swayed, lept and shook, sprayed the crowd with his sweat, heavenly sweat, the sweat of angels--when the sweat landed upon the throng, a frenzied, jubilaic energy took over the pure wild mass of humans and there would be a collective leap, arms cast heavenward in happy thanksgiving for the breath of life. I have since lost those pages--trown into the trash during the days of emotional upheaval that accompanied the announcement, from her, that my services as a husband would no longer be required. It began then as a grand, jubilant celebration of life--as a celebration in the ethos of Lawrence's revelation of the Indian dancers in New Mexico--dancing in the sheer excuberance of life, of life devout, of life joyous, of life spiritual, of life pure and vibrant, of a perfect, celebratory, glorified existence. It was the life I did not have, but longed for. It was a life I had but did not embrace. Therein lies the source of my suffering. And it begins this time on a porch of a Beechwood Avenue house, blocks away from the large factories that pollute and nourish this city, in a somnabulist, pausal existence of memory, suffering and cigarettes, thinking of her, and others, embracing the solace of surrender, divine discontent, phantoms,desires....